


The Vixen and The Wolf

by Desdimonda



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Inquisition, Set after the Temple of Mythal, Solas AU, Solas AU where he doesn't break up with her and leave, Solavellan, Solavellan AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas decides to take the path he wants, and not the one he should. </p><p>A Solavellan AU where Solas stays with Lavellan after the temple of Mythal and helps her through the events that are to come and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

A trail of books, scattered, some upturned, some lay open at their centre, the spine creasing. They echoed her steps that she had took a few hours ago from the library to her quarters, an armful of texts, of history, of elven lore, culture, the dalish. History lay askew behind her, littering the floor. Dorian had asked what she wanted, but he had understanding eyes, eyes that knew more than he said. Apparently a whisper had rippled through Skyhold since her meeting with…Flemeth in the fade.

Everyone had an opinion; but no-one said it. Not yet. Curious, wary eyes followed her steps as she returned from the altar this eve. Muted words spoken behind timid hands, they filled the silence, leaving a trail behind her. At least in here in was quiet; at least she was alone.

The door to her quarters rattled against the stone. Not any more, she thought, swirling the wine around in her goblet, her fingers gliding over the empty bottle sat in her lap. Another empty bottle lay on the floor. Saga was draped along the balcony edge, leaning her back against Skyhold’s outer wall. The sun had long set and the moon was rising, steady. It was but a sliver, accompanied with a sheet of stars. Her visitor walked fast, a shuffle of clothes, but footsteps quiet, bare. Saga closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the cold stone.

‘I told you not to drink from the well!’ Solas bellowed, halting a few paces away. The cold had reddened his cheeks; or maybe it was the anger, she thought.

Saga sipped her wine and took a lazy glance between Solas and the horizon. ‘I am not something you command, at will.’

He paced, back and forth, running frustrated hands over his head. ‘But, if you had just listened I- this-this wouldn’t have happened.’

She emptied her glass, lolling her head to the side, a smirk tugging at her lips. ‘So what, Mythal wouldn’t have appeared, in the skin of a shemlen and command me to her will?’ A hiccup passed her lips. Solas halted his pacing. ‘Oh sorry, yes, she wouldn’t have commanded _me_ , but Morrigan instead. Or maybe you. Tell me. Why didn’t you drink from the well? Huh?’

Solas took a step forward, catching the empty glass that slid from her precarious hold. She lolled back against the wall, her unsteady body still draped across the ledge. His fingers caught her arm and he slinked his hand beneath, holding her still.

‘Get off,’ she hissed, unsuccessfully trying to push him away. He tightened his hold, pulling her slowly to her feet and away from the edge.

‘I didn’t drink because it was foolish. None of us knew what would happen. It was far too big a risk,’ he said, holding both of her arms, seeing the sway of her body almost pull her to the ground.

‘Someone had to do it. Do you think I’d let a shem drink?’ she slurred on shem, twisting the word over her tongue. ‘Shem,’ she slurred again, catching Solas’s concerned gaze. ‘She’s a _shem_. Mythal.’

Solas drew in a long breath, closing his eyes at her words, pulling her close against his chest. She gripped his fleecy robe, fingers nestling in the thick material, her face pressing against the pendant he always wore.

‘Things don’t always turn out as expected,’ he said quietly, supporting her unsteady body. She hiccuped against his chest.

‘I prayed to her. My clan prayed to her. We begged her for help; she did nothing,’ she said, staggered. She tried to pull back, muttering curse words under her breath, but Solas held her tight, twisting his fingers into her loose white braids.

‘The world isn’t always what we thought. History can be warped, changed by the claws of time,’ he soothed. ‘But history is all we have. When it’s shattered before us - we begin to question who we really are.’

Saga struggled against his hold, pushing him away. Her brows stern, her mouth parted. His hands sought her, to pull her back, but she batted him back. ‘I know who I am. I am Saga of Clan Lavellan. Hunter, leader - f-friend. The-the-’ Words that began so sure, so steady and strong, faded to a stutter, to a slur, to thick words tainted with the swell of tears. Tears that now ran down her cheeks, staining her wine red cheeks. ‘I’m the Inquisitor’ she sobbed.

Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled her to his chest, arms tight and comfortable. ‘None of this changes who you are, vhenan. None of it.’

‘I’m bound to her, _forever,_ ’ she said through a hiccup, restless hands wandering across his back. ‘I have lost my freedom. What am I if I don’t even have that?’

For a long while they stood in quiet, wordless silence, the only interruptions were Saga’s quiet sobs and hiccups against his chest. His hands moved in a soothing rhythm over her hair, fingers slipping through white, wavy strands. She enjoyed the touch, it reminded her of why she did this. Why she stepped into the abyss, battling against the darkness that spread across Thedas, it’s fingers stretching far and wide, reminding her, incessantly, of it’s power. She did this for the ones she loved; and she loved no other like this man. This bare faced apostate, with a past she didn’t know, a gaze that held the weight of the world, and a smile that reminded her of the beauty of love.

‘Come, heart,’ he said at last, sliding hands into hers, leading her back inside her quarters.

The night air was brisk, cold against her tear stained cheeks. Saga was thankful for his sober mind as he carefully led back inside. Unsteady steps tripped once, twice. Solas steadied her both times; just like he always did. If she faltered, he was there; if she was lost; he was there.

‘Thank you,’ she stuttered, reaching out for the soft, silken sheets of her bed. She stumbled on top, limbs tangling in the sheets, her head nestling onto a feathery pillow.

‘What for?’ he asked, perching on the edge of her bed, watching her curl into a ball, knees against her chest, arms draped lazily in-front.

‘For being there - here,’ she corrected, her words turning languid, lazy. She felt his warm fingers graze her wine red cheek, damp from tears. ‘Even if you did come to shout at me.’

‘What’s done is done,’ he began, rising from the bed, touching the slide of her ears as he stepped away.

‘No,’ she breathed, a clumsy hand reached for his, but caught air instead. ‘Stay - please. I hear the whispers already. They’re loud, today.’

Solas smiled, a sad little smile that she saw through blurry eyes. He pulled a chair to her side, sat back and crossed his legs, a book nestled into his lap. Lazy fingers brushed his knee, grazed his shin and settled on his bare, cold toes.

 _Just like Haven_ , he thought, watching her eyelids flutter, succumbing to the veil of sleep. _The day my whole world changed._


	2. You Have Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saga struggles with her identity, with the weight that sits on her shoulders from drinking the well. Everything she knows is shattered, all she loves is gone. Solas takes her to a place that holds memories, that holds love, to tell her something she deserves to know.

‘Dorian, do you have a moment?’ spoke Solas as he reached the top of the stairs, to the ledge of the rotunda that overlooked his quarters - if you could call it so. There was no real bed he slept, save for the large sofa that Saga loved to drape over, her legs dangling over the side, sometimes her white hair, the tips a breath away from the floor.

‘Of course, Solas. What can i do for you?’ asked Dorian, a pleasant smile on his face as he glanced up from his large leather chair, legs crossed casually. The smile was for Saga, he knew. The Tevinter and him had never truly gotten along; they had their moments of civility, times when they spent hours debating magical or cultural theory. But friends? Solas at least did not think so.

‘It’s about the Inquisitor,’ said Solas, resting his hands behind his back as he stood tall, patient, calm.

‘Can you still not call her Saga?’ he asked, setting down the old book he was perusing. He recrossed his legs, watching the patient, immovable face of the elf.

‘I do, to her. But she deserves the respect of her title out with our private conversations,’ said Solas, cooly.

The tevinter mage cocked a brow, resting his hands in his lap. ‘She’s the only one that can see past that mask, isn’t she?’

‘She has seen more than…most,’ he said, his voice faltering on his last words.

Dorian drew a long, deep breath. ‘Alright. What is it? Is it about the well? Because I have already exhausted everything I could possibly say to her. I do not want to face a swathe of angry curse words again, thank you.’

Solas began to pace, steps slow, arms still clasped behind his back. ‘Do you know the consequences-’

‘Yes, yes. Tied to the ancient goddess Mythal who is actually a human, for all eternity.’ Dorian paused, running a hand across his tired face, breathing another deep sigh. ‘I know it all. And I assume you do too. Now, what it is you want?’

‘I-’ he paused, halting his steps. Hands that were once calm, composed, nestled at his back, now fidgeted. A hue of blue resonated off the skin; his magic responding to his uneasy heart. ‘Please, keep an eye on her. Watch over her.’

‘You want me to babysit our Inquisitor? I value my life, thank you,’ said Dorian with a smirk, pointing his fingers to a peak, watching the unsettled hands his fellow mage.

‘This was unprecedented. I don’t truly know how this is going to affect her,’ continued Solas, ignoring Dorian’s last words. ‘She’s losing sight of who she is. I-there's-’ He stopped talking, stopped walking. Fingers that were once restless sat idle. He glanced down the rotunda, to the floor below, his eyes looking over the last panel that lay bare.

‘Excuse me,’ said Solas, turning away from the tevinter mage and descending down the stone steps.

Dorian tried to stall him, to ask where he was going and what he intended to do, but he was gone before he even muttered ‘wait’.

————————————

‘What is this place?’ asked Saga, quietly. She felt like her words should be no more than a whisper here; like her eyes should not peer, but glance from the side. The moon illuminated the white halla statues. They looked pearlescent, almost as white as her snowy hair. Water rippled from the breeze, gentle, melodic as it whipped through the trees, skimming the reeds and ferns that lined the lake and brushed against her legs as they walked, hand in hand.

‘A place that holds history, that holds a thousand memories,’ said Solas, mirroring her gentle voice. His thumb idly ran across her knuckles, like they always did. ‘The veil is thin here. Can you feel it?’

‘I feel like I must whisper and tread lightly here. Something not easy for I,’ she said with a smile.

Solas chuckled, nodding in agreement as they reached the edge of the lake. ‘Never feel like you have to be quiet, my heart. Never. You speak as you should, I would have you no other way.’

Her green eyes looked away; she stared at the rippling water, watching the ethereal gleam of the moon alight the water. Back and forth swayed the reeds, back and forth.

_Love. This is love._

Saga felt his hand grace her face, warm fingers pushing back a shock of white hair, free of her braids. His thumb ran beneath her right eye, gently, timidly pulling her around to face him.

‘What weighs on your mind?’ he asked, cupping her cheek.

‘Apart from the imminent end of the world coupled with my soul bound forever to a goddess?’ she said, brow raised, but she couldn’t hide a smile. He returned one in kind. ‘May I be honest?’

‘Aren’t you always?’ he said, stroking that spot beneath her eye again; the touch that meant love.

‘I’m not someone that usually falls in love. Falling into a bed? Sure,’ she said with a little smile, dipping her eyes down. Solas tilted her head back up, unwilling to let her look away. ‘But. Solas. You- ....shit. Why can’t I just say it. Why do my words fall away when-’

He caught her lips in a kiss, hands holding her still, fingers slinking through her hair, unbrushed, windswept. Lips parted, familiar tongues met and all promise of words slid away. She sank into his hold, hands sliding across his back, fingers losing themselves in his furs; fur that tickled her face, that mingled with her hair.

Solas pulled back, just enough, their lips hovering a breath apart. ‘I love you too, da’mi.’

‘Is that why you brought me here?’ she said, a lopsided smile gracing her lips. ‘Just to tell me you love me? You whisper that to me in bed, beneath the sheets,’ she said with a gentle laugh, lithe fingers tracing the slide of his ears, turned down, just a little, like they always did at their moments of love.

‘Not just that,’ he said, sliding his hands back into hers. ‘You mean… so much to me. I never thought I could find such a bright, beautiful spirit like yours since-since-’

‘Since when?’ she pressed.

‘A long time ago, vhenan. I love again - I never thought I would. And for that, I owe you the truth.’

Saga paused, her lips parted, wanting to speak. Her breath caught in her throat, harsh, rasp. Her heartbeat stilled.

‘Your vallaslin. They are not what the dalish believe. In my dreams, in my walks through the fade I have seen their true meaning. They are slave markings, from when our people walked Arlathan.’

‘Wh-what?’ breathed Saga, dropping his hold, her fingers touching her face, tracing the vallaslin of Andruil. ‘So what, one of our goddesses is a shemlen, and now I have the markings of a slave on my face?’

‘I don’t do this to hurt you. I respect and love you too much to deny you the truth. It is what you deserve.’

‘Who…who even am I, anymore?’ said Saga, the swell of un-shed tears breaking her voice. She took her hands off her face, staring at them, creasing her brow, fighting, pushing, denying the tears that she wanted to shed. ‘I guess it’s fitting,’ she said, her breaths shallow, strained. ‘I become a slave to Mythal, I may as well wear the brand to show it. I don’t even have my freedom - what do I have?’

Familiar hands, warm, smooth, held her face. Familiar, eyes, filled with love, with trust, met her own. 'You have me.’

‘But for how long? Everything I love is gone. All I fight for, it falls apart. I -I-’

‘For as long as you need me, for as long as you want me,’ whispered Solas, thumbs caressing her marked face, wiping away the tears that stained her skin, warm, damp.

‘Why do you even want to be with a slave? With someone who doesn’t even know who she is any more,’ she whimpered, fingers clenching to a fist in anger at her falling tears.

‘You are Saga. You may hold the title of Inquisitor, Herald, Lavellan, but to me, you are _Saga_. I love the woman who bears that name, the wild, indomitable spirit, so beautiful and honest.’

The kissed, again. Lips pressed gently together, tinged with her salty tears.

‘So you’ll stay? At my side? Because when you took me here, everything in me said this was it; that you took me here to say goodbye.’

She saw him pause, his eyes glisten as he looked away, for just a moment. But he caught her gaze again, shaking his head. ‘Not in this world,’ he said, pressing his nose against hers, watching the smile she gave brighten her wet eyes. ‘I have one last thing. I can remove the vallaslin if you like? I know a spell.’

‘Do it,’ she said without hesitation, nodding against the hold of his hands.

‘Sit,’ he said, motioning to the tree stumps by the lake.

Saga obliged, facing Solas as he sat on the one opposite. Hands touched her face, quiet, breathy words passed his lips as his hands, gleaming with blue magic glided over her face. Saga closed her eyes, letting him do as she wished. It felt cool, like the first swathe of water in the morning as she bathed, bitter, but fresh. It was seconds, if that, and it was done.

‘Ar lasa mala revas,’ he breathed, resting his hands by her neck, covered in her usual green scarf; it matched her eyes. ‘You are so beautiful.’

‘I’m free?’ she asked, blinking wet eyes, tears falling down her bare face. ‘I’m Saga, once more?’

‘You always were, and you always will be,’ he said, smiling.

They stared at each other, wordless, for a long while. Hands clasping together, restless fingers danced, the haze of his magic weaving through their fingers.

_I have you._

_My truth, I couldn’t give you. One day, before your last breath, I will._

_I promise you this, vhenan. I will._

They kissed beneath the moon, falling into the grass, limbs entwining, eager hands seeking what they loved; each other.


End file.
